Shocking Red Contrasts
by Ebyru
Summary: What if they were both vampires? How would they fit into the world?
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Un-beta'd-  
the first chapter is an introduction to each of their characters.

_Warnings for the usual vampire things. Slash is slowly building up_

* * *

_Will_ is a self-trained vampire.

He knows his victims' names; knows if they got home in one piece; knows if they'll ever come back; bites them, and takes only small sips; doesn't demand more, but asks instead; lets them leave if they're too weak, too frail to feed him; bypasses children as much as he can; thanks them before and after every meal; never makes eye contact, but feels the exact moment when they were going to slip away; he's a child in man's clothing, too afraid to leave his mark in the world; he always stops first.

_Hannibal_ is the vampire.

He takes what he needs; remembers how they sounded, how they smelled in their last moments; forgets their names but remembers the tang they left on his tongue afterward; never lets them leave; doesn't listen to what they have to say, but preaches his beliefs at them; devours more than he should, more than enough, more than their kind would; he's a beast in a tailored suit, feasting on their insides like he shouldn't need to; limits don't exist in his world.


	2. Acquaintances

**A/N:** un-beta'd, oops.

_Vampire warnings again._

**Summary for this chapter:** Will is drawn to a smell like he hasn't been since his youth.

* * *

Will chases the metallic taste from his fangs and bottom lip. Sherri, the woman he drinks from once per week, has pushed him away gently. He nods, keeping his eyes away from her open wound. The smell of thick life oozes out of her pores like aphrodisiac, but Will knows how to clamp down on his urges. It's been two hundred years since he's killed anyone while feeding; he's a professional now.

He wets his fingertips with his own blood, pressing them against the two holes so they'll heal up faster even before she asks him to. "Thanks," he mutters quietly.

"I'm sorry to leave you with half a meal," Sherri says. "It's just that I have a date tonight, and he wouldn't believe me if I said a vampire drank my blood and that's why I have these bruises around my neck."

Will nods, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. If he continues to suck remnants from his fingers, he'll have to go find someone else – who may not be willing – to contribute to his meal. It's too much work, and there's too much guilt involved with that.

She waves goodbye as Will subtly creeps back into the lane he came from earlier. He watches her go, hidden in a corner of the shadows, to make sure she doesn't get attacked by another vampire while the smell of him still clings to her. If any of the younger ones – or the ones with no self-preservation – find out that she feeds freely, she would be in trouble.

Her heels click on cement all the way to her car, and she drives off. Will lets out a sigh of relief and straightens his jacket, rushing down the lane towards the public park.

XXX

Homeless people tend to forgive his quick sips; they're usually too tired or inebriated to care about the bite marks he leaves in their wrists or arms. Their blood certainly isn't the best – not like Sherri who jogs and eats only vegetarian food – but it will suffice. He only needs enough to survive until tomorrow when his other donor, Tom, returns from vacation.

The man smells like urine and vodka when Will sinks his teeth into bare throat. The taste is almost – _almost_ – enough to distract from the putrid smell wafting into his nostrils as he sucks the man's blood like he's sipping from a straw. But then another smell appears—

Will's mouth hangs open while he inhales the waves of sweet release floating through the air. The man's blood drips from his lips, skating down his chin. Stains of red fall in blotches against the man's clothing, blending in with the piss and vomit residue. It doesn't matter; Will doesn't care. That aroma is all he can think about now.

He leaves the park, trailing after the perfume like a starved man chasing a bone. It expands and gathers more irresistible fumes as Will approaches; he salivates, blinded by hunger like he hasn't been in two centuries. He prays to all gods that it isn't a child, or some virginal girl doing this to him.

The scent brings him through the city, alleys and laneways, through a parking lot with no cars, and across street after street. He realizes belatedly that the smell is in motion – which would explain why it's carrying so far from the starting point.

An elegant home with vines growing up one side of it is where it finally leads Will. Taking in a deep breath, he's able to confirm this is where the smell has settled. He's careful as he walks across the freshly-cut grass; he hunches over when he reaches the stone walkway, moving from shadow to shadow; he ducks behind a bush when there's rustling somewhere to his left, but it turns out to be a dog; he's still consumed by what's making his mouth water when his hand decides to turn the knob and step inside uninvited.

"Who's there," calls someone, seated in a throne-like chair. Will wonders why none of the lights are on.

"Sorry," he says, mind still reeling from the earlier chase. It's the closest he's come to hunting like he used to as a young vampire; he forgot how alive it made him feel, how much fun it could be.

The person stands from the chair with a creak. His steps are measured, precise, as he walks towards Will. Shadows hide and reveal parts of his face simultaneous. His jaw is square; his nose is pointed but narrow, small – cute, Will would say if he were a woman; his hair is dirty blond, slicked back into a small ponytail; his lips curve into a half heart, almost as if pursed; his teeth flash with red tips when Will glances down at them; and his eyes – they match the crimson slick dripping from his teeth.

When he's finally close enough that Will can see all of him, he stands a few inches above Will. "I'm so glad you decided to stop by, William," he purrs.


	3. Semi-Disclosure

**A/N:** Un-beta'd. If someone wants to help with beta-ing chapters, I'd appreciate it. :) Hope you enjoy!

**Warnings for** vampire-type violence, and blood. We're getting into the grimey stuff now.

* * *

"How is Tom working for you, William?" he asks. There's a slight curl to his lips. "Obedient I should hope. I told him to accommodate your every demand or I would personally end his life." He licks away the remnants of blood from his teeth. His navy blue tailored suit leaves little to the imagination.

"H-he's fine," says Will, stepping back towards the way he came. "Have we met? Why do you know my name?"

Hannibal moves his hand through the air with a flutter, as if to demonstrate how irrelevant this all is. How it's all behind them. "I've been careful to conceal my interest in you for the past century, dear Will." He dabs at his mouth with a handkerchief. "You don't mind that I call you Will, do you?"

"I, uh-" Will says; swallows. "I should be getting back home. I shouldn't have barged in like this. I don't know what came over me." Will turns his back, taking very long steps in the direction of the door. He hopes to all heavens that he can make it out without being stopped. Something about this other vampire doesn't sit well with him.

"But aren't you curious as to how you found my home?" he says, standing directly behind Will. He places his palm flat against the door, keeping it closed. "That scent you were chasing all over the city?"

Will squeezes his eyes closed, and as he reopens them he reaches for the doorknob. "No," he says with all the resolve he can muster in this tight space. But now that he's reminded of the scent…It's overflowing in this vampire's home; it's fitting itself in between his deadened ribs, inside his dead, comatose heart.

"I can sense that you are lying, but I will not hold you against your will," he says. He backs away from the door, taking his salivating smell with him. "If you should return, please just greet me as Hannibal."

Will nods brusquely, turning the knob and running out into the dark of streets he doesn't know.

XXX

The drink from the homeless man on the way to Hannibal's home – and his curiosity and slight fear of the vampire – sates his appetite for the rest of the evening. At home, he feeds his dogs pieces of steak and boiled vegetables he buys from a grocery store around the corner. He lets them play in the yard for a few hours, throwing balls out for them and chasing them around from one corner to the other. When they are too exhausted to fetch, he calls them in and throws cushions on the carpeted floor for them. He fills their water bowls – all five of them – and retires to the basement for when the first sign of sunlight starts coming around.

"Good night," he tells them through the wall. "Be nice for Tom when he comes over."

XXX

Will's alarm rings at seven pm on the dot, and he slowly unfurls himself from his black comforter. He scratches at the hair at his nape, groaning when he tries to stand and his foot catches on the corner of his futon. He catches himself on his night stand, where he grabs his watch.

Opening his mahogany dresser, - a gift from his parents, almost two centuries ago - he slips on jeans and a grey t-shirt, hoping his hair isn't disheveled enough for Tom to make fun of him again. He tries to comb it down with his fingers just in case.

X

Tom is sipping tea in what looks to be an antique Chinese set. His fingers tremble minutely on the next sip. He nearly drops his cup as he notices Will standing in the doorway to the basement. That cup – the tea itself – does not belong to _him_. Or Tom, for that matter.

Coming fully into the room, Hannibal is standing in a corner near a pot of tea that matches the cup Tom is using. He leans a hip against the counter, his suit now pinstripe and burgundy; his cufflinks are gold.

"Will," he says with a slight smile, "I was waiting for you to awaken."

"I'm awake now," he replies. "What are you doing here?" Will crosses his arms, even more aware of how inadequately dressed he is. But it _is_ his home; he should be able to dress as messy as he likes.

Hannibal looks Will up and down, nodding. "That you are, but you won't be able to accompany me in that attire I'm afraid," he says. He glances over at Tom – who straightens immediately, fully at attention – and tells him, "Do you have plans for the rest of the night? I will be taking Will out for a few hours."

"N-no, Dr. Lecter," mutters Tom, putting his cup down when his fingers shake too much to hold it steady. "I can stay here with the dogs as long as you need."

"It is much appreciated," Hannibal says, inclining his head.

Will's mouth hangs open, off more to the right because of an old injury, wondering why he dogs didn't alert him of the stranger in his home. And more importantly—"Where do you want to take me exactly?"

Hannibal's fangs press into his bottom lip as he grins. "You'll need to put on something more…appropriate first."

XXX

It's nearly eight when they arrive at what Will recognizes as a gentleman's club on first glance. There are drunken men and women coming out, holes pierced into their necks, and they tumble down the street without a care in the world. The man, almost seven feet tall, standing at the door nods at Hannibal when their eyes meet, holding the door open.

Will is wearing the best clothes he owns, which isn't saying much; he doesn't really care for fashion or 'keeping with the times'. His charcoal cashmere sweater and dark blue slacks were all he could find that Hannibal hadn't scoffed at.

And, to tell the truth, he's not sure why he agreed to follow a strange vampire down the road to what is clearly a vampire's den (where humans come to be fed from). But as Hannibal leads him forward, fingers clasped around his wrist, the words _foreign_ and _delicious_ float into the back of Will's throat and up into his nose. He's stifled with the need to stay next to him. To learn more about what drew him in originally.

X

Their table is lavish, like the rest of the establishment: the walls scream _Gatsby lived here_; the floors are ebony wherever red carpeting isn't; the chandeliers tinkle softly like a light rain; and the workers are dressed in dark vests or corsets, their fangs or bite marks on display.

Will is seated before he knows it, their table thankfully off to the side and far enough in the back that he won't need to interact much. Not that he can really trust being alone with Hannibal either. A man begins to approach their table, but a young woman pushes past him and arrives first.

"What can I get you two?" she says, tilting her head to the side, showing off the two holes in her neck.

Human, then.

Hannibal eyes Will for a moment, then says, "What he chooses, I shall take as well."

"But I don't know-" Hannibal takes a drinks menu from her and hands it to Will. "Thanks," he mutters to Hannibal. He scans all the names briefly, looking for something that won't have too much blood in it. "Eau D'Ivoire," he says at last (not without a struggle with the French words), closing the menu.

Smiling, Hannibal leans back in the leather booth, his hands clasped on their glass table. "I suppose now would be the time to ask questions," he tells Will.

"I don't know exactly _what_ to ask," Will admits, dragging a hand across his stubble and down his neck.

Hannibal follows the movement with rapt attention, his eyes flickering to a colour Will has never seen on a vampire before. "Then ask the first thing you can think of," he says.

"Why did your eyes just turn orange?" he says, trying to move further in the booth without it being obvious (or too insulting).

"Well that, you see, is a very long story." He reaches towards Will, coming away with a loose thread. "You mustn't treat cashmere so poorly."

Will frowns, crossing his arms, his mouth in a thin line. "I'll do what I want," he snaps. "And besides, I asked a question. Don't change the topic."

"Now, William, no need to be angry," he says, placating. "I was only trying to help since you feel so out of place here."

The waitress from earlier appears, carrying two champagne flutes on a fancy gold-trimmed tray. "Here you are," she says, giving the first to Hannibal. "And yours," she tells Will.

She stands there, quietly smiling. Will peers at her from the corner of his eye and wraps his fingers around the glass. He sniffs at it, and immediately pushes the glass to the centre of the table.

"What _is_ this?" he asks Hannibal, grimacing.

The girl cuts in before Hannibal can respond, "It's the finest elephant blood from Africa, mixed with a third of vegan-human blood." She holds her tray close to her chest. "You shouldn't be here if you can't even enjoy something this high quality, _sir_."

"That comment was unnecessary, young woman," Hannibal says, looking fiercely into her eyes. "I demand you apologize to my guest."

The look in her eyes softens as she says, "B-but Hannibal, what are you _doing_ with him? You're so much-"

Before she can continue the insult, Hannibal has her pinned down on the table. He growls once, louder than Will's ever heard from a vampire, and bites into her throat. But he doesn't just sink in his teeth and drink her, bleed her dry, he rips and tears at flesh, chewing and swallowing. The blood isn't even a concern of his; it flows over the table underneath her, staining the glass. Their champagne flutes lie broken on the floor underneath this massacre.

When Hannibal is done, nothing left of the poor girl but her vocal chords and her face, he pulls out a handkerchief to wipe the corners of his mouth; Will has seen enough. He jumps from his seat, rushing through shrieking patrons (and the occasional aroused vampire), not looking back to see if Hannibal is following.

XXX

Somehow, despite the horrific event he just witnessed – vampires do not _eat_ humans – Will finds his way back home to his dogs. Tom is still there, as promised, and who could blame him if he's seen what Will has. It's difficult for Will not to shiver as he locks the door behind him; Hannibal knows where he lives.

"Will, you're back early," Tom says in greeting. He stands, craning his neck to look around. "Hannibal isn't with you?"

"I ditched him at the club," Will tells him. "He ate a woman. Literally ate her. Right in front of me, Tom. Why didn't you warn me about him?" He doesn't mean to sound so betrayed, but Tom knew Hannibal first; couldn't he have said something?

"He made me promise not to," says Tom. "I'm so sorry. I know how much you hate violence like that."

Will waves off the apology, his brows creased in concentration. "Just tell me: what is he? What the _fuck_ eats through a woman's throat? I've met dozens of vampires and not once-"

"He's not completely vampire," Tom says, rubbing at his nape. "But I don't think he'd like me saying."

His chest rumbling with frustration, Will stalks towards Tom and pins him with a glare. "Show me your neck then."

Tom complies without a fuss, pulling his collar down. And when Will sinks his teeth in to the familiar flesh, warm blood coating his tongue, he nearly hums at the pleasure and relief it gives him. This is what he needs: a willing meal, his dogs, and his home.

Not Hannibal and his orange eyes. His exotic smell.


End file.
